


January

by chronicle23



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicle23/pseuds/chronicle23
Summary: After he graduates, Jeff's finally a lawyer, for real this time. He has a shot at making partner at the firm, but there's just one problem: he needs to fit in with all the married guys if he's going to get the promotion. So he enlists Britta's help, because what could possibly go wrong?Spoiler: it all goes wrong, but some important lessons are learned along the way.Set between S4 and S5.
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Comments: 20
Kudos: 81





	January

There were a lot of things Britta Perry didn’t like. Cheap shoes, dinosaurs, slaughterhouses, toxic masculinity, corporate greed. Lawyers. Most of them. Except for one, but he was too busy off kicking ass and taking names and trying to erase any memory of Greendale to offer anything other than the occasional contribution to the group text. 

It was weird at first, his empty chair taking up way too much space in the study room. But eventually, they all started to adjust. Troy and Abed still did skits. Shirley kept bringing brownies. Pierce kept being politically incorrect. And Annie kind of took over as the leader, trying to keep them all on track while they were supposed to be studying for psych 101. Britta had already taken it and mostly came to the group just to have something to do and to occasionally let Annie know she was wrong about a long answer question. 

She was sitting there during one of their bickering sessions (Pierce had insisted that Greendale’s multicultural dinner was actually reverse racism) when her phone pinged. A text from Jeff lit up the screen. _Hey, Red Door, 8:00pm drinks? Really need to talk to you. Don’t tell the group._

Worst-case scenarios flashed through Britta’s mind. It had to be bad; he’d actually called it the Red Door instead of L Street. He was dying of terminal cancer. His dad had more secret kids. He was having a midlife crisis. That would definitely explain why he’d been laying so low lately.

So when she showed up later that night, only to find Jeff, primped and preened in a sleek looking suit, grinning at the bar with a vodka neat already ordered for her, she had no idea what to think anymore. 

“What the hell is going on?” she asked as she slid onto the stool next to him.

“Normal people usually say ‘hi,’ but okay. Nothing. Just need a favor from you,” he said casually. 

“A favor of what sort?” she asked, cocking a brow. 

“Not that kind, but I like where your head’s at,” he said with a grin.

Britta rolled her eyes. “Just get to it, so I can say no.”

“Wow, some friend you are.”

“Me? I haven’t seen you in months, dude.”

Jeff’s eyes sank a bit. “I know. I’ve been really busy. But that’s why I need your help.” He met her gaze and Britta felt herself already getting reeled in. That was the Winger effect. 

“I’ve been busting my ass all summer,” he continued. “Pulling 80 hour weeks. We have a new head and now I have a pretty good shot at making partner. Which means way more free time and the cases I actually want. I just need to charm them enough. Which is where you come in.”

“I don’t see how I fit into this at all.”

Jeff shifted on the stool. “Well, that’s the thing. Most of these guys, they’re all… you, know. Huge house. Nice car. Weekends in Aspen, golf after work, galas every month. Kids in private school… and wives.”

Britta saw it now. Saw it very clearly. She could actually picture the little cogs turning in Jeff’s mind, concocting his plan. It all made sense now. No way he would want the group getting wind of this. 

“No.”

“Britta...”

“No.”

“Please. Please, please, please. I’ll pay you.”

“How would that make it better?” she scoffed.

“I’m making enough to give you a fair cut. You can quit bartending. Double up on your classes and leave Greendale in the rearview.”

“Okay, no way would I ever live off of a wife allowance thrown at me by my scumbag husband. And also, I like my job.” Britta paused for a second, realizing something slightly disturbing. “Wait. How do you know I work there? I didn’t tell you.”

“Annie told me.”

Britta decided to let that roll off her back, much like the rest of this conversation. Jeff couldn’t be bothered to so much as even call her, but he could chat with Annie about her life. She needed to go home before she said something too mean and damaging. She swallowed the rest of her drink in one go, and gathered herself up to leave.

“Well, guess the cat’s out of the bag, then. I should go. It was good catching up with you.” She stood up to leave, smoothing her jacket.

Jeff loosely grabbed her wrist and Britta couldn’t help but look down at his gargantuan hand taking up half of her forearm. 

“Come on, you aren’t really mad, are you? I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been a crappy friend. But please help me with this, okay? This is probably the last shot I’m gonna get at this. It’ll only be for a few months. Once I make partner, I’ll immediately fake divorce you.”

He was pleading with her, looking at her with his best sad eyes. But Britta wasn’t easily manipulated. Whining and crying didn’t bother her at all. She’d babysat for her brother plenty of times and sat unfazed while six year-old Marcus wailed at her feet for 20 minutes begging for more ice cream. But something about Jeff’s need, his vulnerability peering out from just beneath the surface, was weakening her resolve. And he’d been so apprehensive about graduating. It was an encouraging sign that he was setting goals now; she didn’t want to discourage him. It wouldn’t be _that_ bad. A couple of appearances a month. Probably free food, free liquor. Plus, he’d asked _her._ Not somebody else (okay, not Annie). She disliked herself a lot for being so excited by that prospect. 

“Fine. Three months, tops. And I’m not taking your money. I’m not an escort.”

“Escort implies that sex is on the table.”

“Don’t. Don’t do it. Don’t push your luck.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.”

* * *

The first thing Jeff did to create his facade was rent one of the lofts in the new apartment building downtown. It had 12-foot ceilings and hardwood floors and exposed brick and by the way Britta’s jaw dropped when she saw it, he knew he’d picked the right place for this project. A house with a mortgage was not in the cards right now, but a shiny new loft with lots of stainless steel appliances was doable. 

“Winger, holy hell. How much are you forking over for this place?” Britta asked him, investigating the apartment’s layout.

“Enough, but not a lot. I’m back in high society.”

“This is huge. And douchey. It’s perfect for you.”

“Charming as always. My stuff’s getting delivered tomorrow morning.”

“So why’d you drag me over here at 9 o’clock on a Sunday?”

“This is my only day off. And I need help, you know, furnishing it. Decorating. Whatever that word is.”

“You have stuff already. You don’t need my help.”

“Yeah, but that’s _my_ stuff. It’s supposed to look like married people live here. It can’t have that usual vibe.”

“That usual bachelor douche vibe?”

“Not how I would phrase it, but... yeah. That vibe.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Brunch? Then you pick out a bunch of stuff to make it look homey.”

“Again, why me? You’ve seen my apartment, right? It’s not exactly Better Homes & Gardens up in there.”

Jeff had seen her apartment. Lots of times. And it was messy and chaotic and covered in cat hair, but also soft and inviting. Knitted blankets, potted plants, soy candles, paintings from her artist friends, mismatched throw pillows. He had corporate furniture, a liquor cabinet, and some stock art. Britta’s apartment felt like the familiar house people hung out at in after-school specials, where they laughed and cried and learned important life lessons. His looked like a hotel suite.

“I saw what you did at Shirley’s wedding. You have to do that, here. Channel your inner Martha Stewart.”

She looked at him seriously, like she was about to bargain. “You’re buying breakfast?”

He nodded.

“Bellinis included?”

“Ugh, gross. But yes, fine.”

“And you’ll give me your credit card and drop me off at Home Goods?”

“Uh…”

“Unless, of course, you have someone else ready to step in and get this done by tomorrow?”

He didn’t. So he relented and took Britta out for waffles and bellinis and then dropped her off as requested. She picked out a bunch of things that they unloaded and left in the empty apartment. Jeff gave her a key and she promised to come and set up before class while he was at work. He came home later that night, kicking off his shoes on a tasteful doormat and hanging up his keys on a hook near the door. He looked around, half expecting Britta to pop out at any moment. It looked like she should have been here. His furniture was here, but blended together with a bunch of accents that came together in an eclectic, cohesive way. It looked upscale, but chic and homey. It looked like a place where cool, successful people should live. He settled into bed, where she’d arranged one of her better looking knitted blankets at the end of the bed. There were matching nightstands, too. She’d put a vase of flowers on hers. And a picture of them from his graduation. Shirley must’ve given it to her. He stared at that picture across the bed for a long time before finally falling asleep.

* * *

Britta stuffed her feet into the heels Jeff had instructed her to wear. The thought of a man policing her wardrobe choices was cringe-worthy. She was more than capable of picking out her own evening wear. But Jeff had a vision for a matching ensemble, and was getting annoyingly stressed and nit-picky when she tried to tell him that. So she’d given up and was ready to go and get this night over with, some benefit gala for legal aid. She grabbed her coat and waited on the bench by the front door while Jeff did whatever it was he was trying to do with his hair in the bathroom. 

“Finally,” she teased as he emerged, looking seven feet tall in his suit and tie that matched her dress. “We’re gonna be late.”

“No, we’re not,” he huffed as he locked the door. He shuttled them into the Lexus (the new Lexus, he’d traded up to a newer model) and gripped the wheel with both hands as they eased into Friday night traffic. Britta watched the headlights pass. She should’ve been working. She had lied and told her boss she had food poisoning. She was already thinking about the double shifts she’d have to pull to make up for what she was losing tonight. She probably should have agreed to let Jeff pay her, in retrospect. Being an escort was actually super feminist.

“So, ground rules,” Jeff announced, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Are you asking, or telling?”

“Telling. If people ask, we met through friends. We’ve been married for three years. No kids yet, but we’re thinking about it. You’re really focusing on your art right now and work in behavioral research. You split your time between here and New York and that’s why you’re not around half the time. And here’s your ring,” he said, fishing a simple band out of his jacket pocket and passing it to her.

“Oh, wow, okay. Why did you get to choose? How am I supposed to keep track of all that? What’s wrong with just telling them what I actually do?” Britta asked, slipping the ring on her finger, wondering where he’d gotten it. She marveled at the sight of a wedding ring on her finger and almost wanted to laugh. But it fit perfectly and she was also wondering how he knew her ring size, because she rarely wore jewelry. She was going to have to ask Shirley about it, because that was _definitely_ information she would somehow know and also provide to someone.

“That you’re a bartender, take notes from Duncan while he drunkenly harrasses subjects, and sell cat eye patches on Etsy? No.”

Britta narrowed her eyes and sized him up from the passenger seat, noticing the matching gold band on his left hand. He was looking straight ahead, and his jaw was tight. He was nervous. She decided to try a softer tactic.

“Why do you care so much what these people think?” she asked, trying her best to sound genuinely interested instead of accusatory. 

“I don’t. I just have to pretend I do.”

“Is it worth it?”

“It will be, when I get to call the shots.”

Britta thought about that. It must’ve been weird for him, going from the big man on campus and being the leader of the study group and shutting everybody up with a wave of his hand and being the dean’s unabashed favorite, to just another rat in the race. She sighed, reminding herself to be supportive. That’s what real therapists did, that’s what real _friends_ did; they were supportive even when it wasn’t convenient.

So Britta chatted and schmoozed with women who looked like they should’ve starred in the Real Housewives of Greendale County and listened to men with sleazy grins give inspiring speeches about legal aid even though she was pretty sure they couldn’t even point out the legal aid office if they drove right past it. This was everything she hated about society, and Jeff was a part of it now. She watched him laugh with the guys from his firm, tossing back scotch and slipping her his credit card so she could make a $100 donation to the foundation in _their_ name. All of it, coupled with the three vodkas she’d tucked away, were starting to make her head spin. 

“Are you okay?” one of the wives at their table asked her, putting a hand lightly on her arm. 

“Oh, yeah. Just tired. Jet lag,” Britta supplied with a fake smile. 

“It’s a lot to take in,” the woman said. “But you must be so proud. He’s really a rising star. And easy on the eyes too,” she said with a smirk. 

“Oh, yeah. He’s certainly… something.”

* * *

Jeff put the finishing touches on the cocktail table while Britta fumbled with his iPod and bluetooth speaker, trying to perfect her party playlist. He didn’t have time to check that over and was nervous as to what kind of music Britta considered appropriate for a small gathering of lawyers and their spouses. She’d made quite the impression at the benefit a few weeks ago, and now they were hosting a game night for a few people, including the head of the firm and his wife. They’d spent half the afternoon in the grocery store arguing about what kind of appetizers to serve, and now he was already exhausted and the guests hadn’t even arrived yet. 

“Did you set up the games?” he asked her, cracking one of the windows to let in a breeze.

“Yes.”

“And did your friend drop off paintings you can pass off as your own?”

“Yes, Jeff.”

“And did you-”

“Jesus Christ. I don’t know what you’re so worried about. I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

“Come again?” he asked.

“I’m a Libra. I’m sociable, likable, keeper of the peace. You’re the dark judgey one. You’re a Scorpio. No one likes Scorpios. Most hated sign in the Zodiac.”

“Please do not tell people that and do not let them know you even _know_ that stuff.”

“You mean I can’t do tarot readings on everybody and light my wicca candles?” she joked. Jeff rolled his eyes, feeling an involuntarily smile cross his face as Britta gave him a small smile of her own. He felt like maybe it would be fine, they would be a team and it’d work just like one of their schemes from freshman year. 

And shockingly, it kind of did. Britta _was_ sociable and likable and everyone enjoyed Charades and the stupid cucumber tzatziki dip she’d insisted on serving. He watched her laughing with the other wives, showing off the tea lights she’d made him stop and get from Pottery Barn. His boss, George, clapped him on the back.

“Great place, Jeff. Thanks for hosting tonight.”

“Oh, thanks. Our pleasure.”

“Your wife is great. Meg can’t stop talking about her. Wants to take her to yoga next week.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” Jeff agreed, his gaze wandering to Britta again. 

“Listen, we usually go up to Aspen for the Thanksgiving weekend, and we’d love for you guys to come. Think you can make it?”

“Of course, we’d love to,” Jeff immediately agreed. He then remembered that Britta wasn’t actually his wife and probably had things going on that weekend, but she was just going to have to take that weekend off and work on her final papers in between ski sessions. 

Later, after they’d cleaned up and loaded the dishwasher and done a thousand domestic things Jeff never saw himself doing, especially not with someone like Britta, they sat on the couch with their feet up on the coffee table, finishing off the last of the cocktails. 

“Hey, so I kind of committed us to going to Aspen Thanksgiving weekend. Is that cool?” he asked her.

“Um… I guess? I’ll look at my calendar. Wow.”

“I know. You’re in high demand. They all love you. You’re really good at all this.” Jeff watched Britta tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d let it grow out to match her new crowd of friends. It was long and tousled and he had the urge to run his hands through it and he thought maybe he should cool it with the drinks.

“Well, good, they should. I’m pulling out all the stops. It’s exhausting,” she said, putting her head back against the couch.

“Thanks for doing this. Really.”

Britta shrugged and gave him a half-smile. “You’ll owe me a lot of favors when it’s done. So it’s worth it,” she said as she glanced over at the clock. “But I should get going. It’s really late.” She moved to get up, stumbling a bit. 

“Not sure you should be driving right now, Mrs. Winger,” he said, feeling the alcohol talking.

“Ew, don’t call me that, ever. But yeah, probably not. I’ll just crash on the couch.”

“You don’t have to,” Jeff said, and Britta looked up at him with eyes the size of saucers, like he was about to suggest the unthinkable. “There’s a guest bed in the office, remember?”

“Oh. Right,” she said, in a tone that was blanketed with relief, or maybe tension? He couldn’t figure it out. It was suddenly awkward in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. “I’m going to go change,” she announced, locking herself in the bathroom. Jeff sighed, retreating to the bedroom.

He couldn't sleep and listened to Britta pad down the hall to the office. They hadn’t cohabited since that year they were basically living at each other’s apartments. And a lot had changed since then: a weird breakup but not actually a breakup since neither of them had the balls to call it a relationship, a drunken almost marriage at Shirley's wedding rehearsal, Britta doing whatever it was she did with Troy for the better part of a year, her having a front row seat when he spilled his guts to his dad, and him graduating and leaving Greendale. So it wasn’t a surprise that things felt awkward now, but it made Jeff kind of sad in a way he couldn’t explain. 

Because this wasn’t the person he was supposed to be, even post-Greendale. He was the leader, he was the one who could talk his way out of anything. He was the cool, detached one. He didn’t get hung up on things like feelings and girls and pretend marriages and what was and wasn’t said three years ago. He was a lawyer again. He worried about things like hearings and litigation and retainer fees and getting his suits dry cleaned and his shoes properly shined. This was stupid, another one of his stupid schemes. After the Thanksgiving thing, he would come up with some story so they could stop doing this and maybe salvage whatever tattered scraps of friendship they still had left. 

A crack of light was creeping in under the door, so Jeff got up to make sure they’d turned everything off. One of them had left a lamp on by the couch. He headed out of the dark room, pausing briefly at the office door before heading back to bed. For a split second, he thought about knocking on it, and his knuckles ghosted over the door, intoxicated by the thought.

* * *

Sports. That was another thing Britta was generally against. Not only because athletes were grossly overpaid and glorified, but also because she was pretty terrible at them. So that’s how she ended up pressing a ziploc bag of ice to her knee in their suite while Jeff explained to his boss that she was fine, and was super tired from just flying in from New York and that’s how she’d ended up falling off her skis the second they hit the ground. 

It was just another annoyance. She was already in a bad mood because she had a ton of work to do as the semester wrapped up and her boss had called her last night and told her no one could possibly get food poisoning as much as she did and that he’d found someone else who didn’t get “sick” every other weekend. So here she was, with a mangled knee, a mountain of homework, and no job, schmoozing with rich douchebags just so Jeff could become one of them again. 

Britta hobbled to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of some awful and overpriced local craft beer, wanting something stronger, but the only other option was Jeff’s signature scotch and that was truly disgusting and refused to let herself sink that low. She settled herself back in front of the fire, scowling at nothing and everything as she watched the embers glowing.

Jeff returned a few minutes later, forcing an abrupt end to her pity party. 

“I told them we won’t be making it to dinner,” he announced. “So what do you want to do? Takeout? Room service?”

All Britta really wanted to do was gorge herself on pizza and go to bed so she could wake up and it would be Sunday and this would all be over and she could pretend she hadn’t been stupid enough to agree to it.

“I don’t care,” she told Jeff.

“Since when? You always have an opinion. Last week you argued with me for twenty minutes about soy versus almond milk.”

“I don’t care,” Britta snapped, feeling horrible for being so mean, but she was in a spiral and there was no backing out now. Jeff looked at her cautiously, like she was some kind of distressed animal, and slowly approached the couch. She watched him sit down with very careful movements, like moving too quickly might spook her.

“Okay, so unfortunately I know you way too well to believe that something isn’t wrong. So just tell me what it is.”

Britta glared at him, hating him for being so calm. Why couldn’t he just yell back at her and they’d argue and be done with it?

“Okay, I’ll start guessing,” Jeff said after a minute of silence. “Your knee actually hurts worse than I thought. Shirley texted you something religious. Your neighbor forgot to feed the cat.”

He was trying to be nice, and it wasn’t his fault. She was the one who’d walked willingly into this whole thing. It was her fault for thinking she honestly had adequate time management skills to juggle classes, working, and carrying on an elaborate scheme with Jeff. And maybe that was part of the problem, spending all this time with him, pretending that it was just to help him get promoted. When in reality, hanging out with him again, doing couple-y things with him again, was something she liked. Liked a lot. And that meant they needed to have a conversation, and neither one of them was good at that. So it would be easier just to give a simple answer. 

“None of the above,” Britta finally said, looking at her foot instead of him. “I got fired last night. I missed too many weekends.”

“Crap. I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”

She shrugged her shoulders and finally turned her body to look at Jeff. She hadn’t really thought about it, which was also problematic. “Beg them to take me back? Move in with Pierce? I don’t know yet.”

“Move into the apartment,” Jeff blurted. “It makes sense. I’m already paying rent and that’s the least I can do.”

“Jeff, no. I can’t just mooch off you.”

“So I’ll tell Duncan to hire you as a lab intern and you can work whenever you want. He’ll do it. He owes me about 50 favors.”

“That would actually be great. But I can’t move in.”

“Why?”

Britta looked at him, begging him to understand why. Because it was a terrible idea and they would argue all the time. Because it would make things insanely complicated and they would have nowhere to retreat to when things got too intense. Because she didn’t trust herself to be around him that much and the last time they were spending that much time together they were also sleeping together.

“You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

“I think I’ve had probably had worse ideas.”

She had to smile at that. “That’s true. You have.”

“Do you know why I asked you to do this?”

“You like dragging me into your stupid schemes.”

“I do. But I missed hanging out with you. I missed us being friends.”

“We never stopped being friends.”

“Great, problem solved. Just move in.”

“Jeff…”

He grabbed her hand. “Britta. Why are you doing this?”

There were plenty of answers she could’ve given. She could have said: _because we’re friends_. Or: _because you asked me for help_. Or even: _because I can’t stop saying yes to you._ But she didn’t know what to say to him, she never did, that was their whole stupid problem. She stopped telling him anything remotely related to feelings after that stupid dance and he ran. And then they both ran after being outed in front of the study group instead of saying something. They both wanted to say something, but neither of them wanted to be the one to say something first. It was so much easier to run, so easy to hide and pretend to be detached, unbothered, unfazed. But it wasn’t easy being stationary, vulnerable and exposed. Show, don’t tell. 

So Britta showed him. She closed the distance between them on the couch and kissed him softly. They’d kissed briefly in front of his boss a couple times, the kind of quick pecks reserved for actual married people. But this was the first real kiss in probably two years. And now she remembered why she had tried so hard to forget.

Because Jeff’s hands were immediately everywhere on her, in her hair and splayed across and her back and roaming under her shirt, and then he was picking her up and carrying her over to the bed, which was something she would definitely make a feminist speech about in the study room, but study room Britta and bedroom Britta were very different people.

She pulled Jeff down on top of her, bringing his mouth back to hers. He trailed away to kiss down her jaw, her throat, leaving warm rosettes smoldering on her skin. In that moment, Britta was feeling pretty good about the outcome of this weekend after all.

And then, he stopped.

“What?” she asked, looking up at him.

“I can’t do this,” he said so quietly that Britta could barely hear him. He moved off of her and laid down next to her and she felt herself starting to panic. Because if there was one constant in this world, it was that she would never have to beg Jeff Winger to sleep with her.

“Why?” she forced herself to ask.

“I don’t want to screw things up.” He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the ceiling.

“You’re not. I started this,” she reminded him.

Jeff finally turned to look at her. “But is this really what you want?”

Oh, boy. There it was. If she didn’t have a bum knee, she would have been halfway out the door by now. Running was so much easier.

“Yes,” she purred into his ear. “Didn’t you miss this?”

And all was right with the universe again, because that was all the convincing it took to get him back on track. Although somewhere in the back of her mind, Britta knew she was in trouble. And later, when she was crying and uttering words that made her want to throw up and he was staring at her silently, she would want to come back to this moment, this unspoiled time when they were still blissfully indulging themselves in ignorance and avoidance, and honestly thinking that they could get away with repeating history.

* * *

The rest of the year evaporated in the way that it always does after Thanksgiving. Britta moved the rest of her stuff in and Jeff tripped over the litter box in the bathroom every morning. He blinked at somehow it was December and they had set up a handsome Douglas fir in the living room, entertaining a plethora of guests. Including the study group, after Britta accidentally wore her fake ring to campus one day and Shirley had the whole story out of her in two minutes flat and demanded they all gather to celebrate the end of their sinning days. Neither he nor Britta had the heart to remind her the marriage was still a sham, even if they were living together now. 

Which they were, and that part wasn’t so hard at all, since they’d practically done it already. What was hard was how quickly things had picked up again, and how scary it was trying to juggle that and work all at the same time. He got the promotion right before Christmas. Christmas itself passed in a whirlwind, a quiet affair in which he and Britta shared an awkward lunch with his dad and Willy and then came home and defrosted some of Shirley’s lemon cake and ate it on the couch.

But then it was January, and the world was dull again, and Jeff had a mountain of cases to sort through, including a major one George had dumped on him before jetting off to Turks and Caicos for three weeks. And he should have been more excited, this was what he wanted. But he had less time to himself now than ever before and probably more responsibility than he’d ever had in his life. Britta was busy too, starting her last semester of classes and putting in long hours in the lab since Duncan was still likely drunk in some pub in Lancashire. So they barely saw each other, and the jig was up, he had his dream job, and they hadn’t really discussed what that meant for them or their relationship, which they also hadn’t discussed, and had yet to even define. Jeff felt it all starting to weigh on him, piles and piles of questions that he couldn’t escape from.

He came home one frigid and dark night and kicked off his shoes next to Britta’s boots, riddled with white specks from rock salt. It was late for a weeknight, nearly 10:00. He headed for the bedroom, trying to be quiet. But Britta was still awake, with a textbook and her messy notes spread out in front of her, the bedside lamp casting a warm glow on her face. They’d had a brief argument about that when she moved in. She insisted it’d be better if they had their own space and said she’d sleep in the guest room. He said it was ridiculous and her being guarded again. But then after Troy’s birthday party (which everybody always did extra for after his mess of a 21st) and a long night of whiskey sours, he woke up to see her curled up beside him on her side of the bed, and she’d been sleeping there ever since. 

“Wow, it lives,” she remarked as he kicked off his suit and climbed into bed.

“Why are you still up? Waiting for me?”

“Hadn’t planned on it. But it just kind of happened. And I realized I haven’t really seen you for two days and wanted to make sure you’re still alive.”

“Such concern. Girl of my dreams,” Jeff joked. 

Britta half-smiled and closed her book, and Jeff wondered if she knew that wasn’t much of a joke. “So tell me about this case. Why are you working 14 hour days when you were so sure you were going to have 30 hour weeks now?”

It sounded worse when she said it like that, but it was true. He might as well live at his office.

“Well, it’s a high profile case. You know that guy who owns half the restaurants in the city? A fifteen year old who waitressed at one of his steak houses over the summer says he assaulted her in his office.”

“Assaulted her how?”

“Uh, you know. In the worst way possible.”

“And your firm is representing… him?”

“Yeah. She has public counsel.”

“So she can’t afford someone good.”

“Someone as good as me? No.” Jeff looked over at Britta, but her face was blank.

“You should drop this case,” she said flatly. 

“What? This is my first case as partner. I can’t.”

“So quit.”

“What are you even saying right now?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Goodnight,” she said, switching off her light and settling herself under the covers, facing away from him. 

Jeff was mad. Maybe it was the long day. Maybe it was everything that hadn’t talked about rising to the surface. Maybe it was his expectations being crushed, yet again. But letting Britta have the last word wasn’t an option for him right now.

“No, not forget it. You don’t get to say that to me, and then just offer no explanation whatsoever. Tell me what you meant.”

“Just drop it.”

“No! I am so tired of walking on eggshells around you. _What_ is your problem?! This doesn’t bother you, never talking about anything, ever? It doesn’t bother you that I got this job and now technically this ruse is over? Or is that it? You’re mad I got the job because it goes against whatever political agenda you’re subscribed to today?”

“Let. It. Go.”

“You really are the worst,” Jeff snarled as he reached to turn off his own lamp, turning his back to hers. He was about to take a blanket into the guest room when he felt her turn over.

“Do you really want to know what my problem is?” she asked in a quiet voice. 

“Oh, I’d love to. You got a copy of the DSM over there? We might need it.” 

Jeff turned to face her in the dark. He could just make out the shape of her face. She was still not talking, and Jeff felt his exhaustion kicking in. The sooner this was over and he could close his eyes, the better.

“Any day now.”

“That was me,” she told him.

“What are you talking about?”

“That girl. What happened to her. That happened…”

 _To me,_ Jeff finished in his head. He felt like a three ton weight had suddenly dropped and settled in his stomach. He didn’t say anything because for once in his dumb life, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. Or do. Or be.

“I was eleven. It was my birthday party.”

Jeff swallowed, hoping that maybe she could hear it and know that he was still listening.

“He said he needed help with the balloons. I told my mom. She didn’t want to ruin the party. So we called the police when we got home.”

He wanted to reach over to her, but he’d forgotten how to move his arms. He could see her, tiny fifth grade Britta with a toothy grin, about to have the worst day of her entire life before she even started high school.

Now it sounded like she was probably crying. Not sobbing, but still. Crying. “It was before my dad started his business. So we didn’t have a lot of money. They couldn’t afford a lawyer. And the prosecutor warned them about putting me up on the stand. So they offered a deal. He did six months.”

Jeff felt hot tears prick at his own eyes. So there it was. Britta had learned how terrible the world was at about the same age he did. But in addition to learning not to trust her parents, she also learned not to trust the world. So she became this person. This guarded, bitter, impossible person. This fiery, independent, passionate person. This person who had a story ten times worse than his, but who still cared about everyone. Who wanted to help everyone in a way that no one had ever helped her. This person, this girl who’d been such a huge part of his life for the past four years. The one he’d chased relentlessly and then let go. And she’d been this person the whole time. 

Jeff needed to touch her, feel her, assure himself she wasn’t made of glass. He felt around the sheets for her hand, finding it and and using it to tether himself to her.

“I am so sorry.”

“I wanted to tell you for a long time.”

He squeezed her hand, and her words hung in the air for a while, as they looked at each other silently in the dark. She eventually turned over and he pressed himself against her like a bookmark, comforted by the familiar: the melodic rise and fall of her breaths, the soft curve of her hip, the silk wisps of her hair. There could never be anybody else, he said to himself, and then to her. Because this, too, was something he had wanted to tell her for a long time.

* * *

There were a lot of things Britta Perry _did_ like. Traveling, old sweaters, 80s grunge, calico cats, the weird corners of the Meatpacking District. Lawyers. When they realized that you couldn’t put a price tag on human decency. 

Jeff had given his notice the very next morning. He hung around the apartment for a weird couple of weeks, trying his hand at things like making soufflé and dog walking and even video editing, much to Abed’s annoyance. And Britta’s, since she was trying to compartmentalize all of their shared stuff before they moved to their new place (which was much smaller and the bathroom tile had a weird stain, but she loved it way more than the perfectly manicured building where they had pretended to be people they weren’t, and she also loved calling it _their_ place, because it actually would be). Eventually Jeff started tagging along to campus, becoming a fixture in the study room again. Mercifully, the Dean was still mildly obsessed with him and offered him a teaching job.

A couple months later, after the rest of them had walked across the parched and patchy grass on Greendale’s football field to finally claim their diplomas, they were grouped around Britta and Jeff’s dining room table, picking at a blue and white graduation cake Shirley had made. Britta watched Pierce try to give Troy another weird gnome, and watched Shirley and Annie fuss over the gifts they’d given each other. Somebody had given Abed an Inspector Spacetime trivia game, which included a special dice block. Abed tossed it gently in his hand.

“I wonder what’s happening in all those other timelines?” he asked the group.

Britta thought about it for a minute, wondering if there were five other versions of herself out there somewhere, living different lives. Maybe one version of her had gone back to New York. Maybe another one had gotten herself together and transferred to a real school, where insanity wasn’t the norm. Maybe one of those versions was still running away from everything, and not dealing with it at all. And hey, maybe there really was some dark timeline where she had a blue streak in her hair and a treasure trove of secrets. She caught Jeff’s eye across the table, and he smiled. She knew he was probably wondering the same thing about himself, if there was still a lawyer Jeff out there somewhere. Maybe there was. But it didn't matter, not right now. Because she was learning that there was a time and a place for running, and a time for being stationary. And that when you weren’t preoccupied with planning an exit strategy, you could notice things. Things that were always blurry before, started to become clear. 


End file.
